If You Must
by TheWonderfulShoe
Summary: What was Ron thinking, with that look as if someone had clubbed him over the head?  What was really in his mind, when Harry saw that tiny jerk of his head?  Ron's POV.


**A/N: So, I'm trying to get my 5 stories up. It's been a long, long time since I've written fanfiction...and not on this site! The lack of screening sometimes irked me. But I've been relying more and more on when I get the urge, so I decided that I'd like to put myself to work doing something I like, and help people write. This isn't going to be particularly long, and is planned to just be this one-shot. I'm not particularly convinced of my skill or dedication, but I hope it's not too terrible! ~TheWonderfulShoe**

It hadn't been easy, being Keeper today. Okay, so maybe it hadn't been _so_ bad. Now, Ron was enjoying himself, living it up with the party, drinking and eating pilfered food and drinks that he knew weren't _really_ so hard to come by, after all. It was a good day.

The Cup was passed around several times. Each time he held it, he felt a spotlight on him, that rush of being in the limelight, and that enjoyable thrill of having won—_won_! The Quidditch Cup was truly and rightfully _theirs_, and Ron was part of it. And it felt _good_!

The only thing that could have made it any better were if that git Snape would let Harry out of detention already. His Quidditch Captain and best mate—and he wasn't even at the party! Blimey, he might not even know yet that they'd won! Knowing Snape, though, he'd keep Harry down there for ages. Maybe _forever_, if he could manage it.

_But_, the greasy git would have to eat, sometime, Ron supposed. Maybe Harry would be up when his stomach started growling. He had to be getting all that grease that wound up in his hair _somewhere_. Ron's mum had always told him to watch what he ate. Maybe Snape's mother hadn't cared enough to clue him in. Or teach him to shower. Ron wouldn't be surprised if even his mother hadn't been able to feel particularly fond of him. If he was anything like he was now as a kid, he was lucky she didn't just drown him and start it all over. Ron would have.

...Ron probably wouldn't have made the best of mothers.

The Cup came around to Ron again, and shortly after—maybe almost half past one—the portrait opened and Harry walked through. Amidst the cheering and shouting, he saw his mate's face split into a grin, and relief. He really _hadn't_ known! Blimey. Well, this was as good a way as any to find out, Ron reckoned. Rather a nice surprise, he should think.

He saw the crowd closing in on Harry, and almost didn't notice the momentary jealousy he always felt when his best mate got all the attention. He even saw Ginny running over. But he _was_ the Quidditch Captain, and he'd already been left out of the celebration this whole time. Leave it to Ginny to take it on herself to make the bloke welcome. Ron rolled his eyes when she threw her arms around him in a hug, but instead of brushing her off like Ron or one of her other brothers would have, Ron watched in increasing horror as Harry _kissed_ her.

_What?_

This was...was just _wrong_! It had to be bloody _unnatural_, or—or _something_! Harry seemed to come to a moment later and Ron saw a change pass over him, like he had just come out of a fit or something and realised where he was and what he was doing. They met eyes, and Ron almost expected him to look like he had just found himself drowning...but instead, he looked almost _happy_, or _apologetic_, or something.

_Well...it could be worse. Bloody _Dean_ again, or something._ Ron reminded himself. Snapping his jaw shut, he gave a little jerk of his head, and turned his eyes away.

_Well—if you must._ Ron thought to himself...and maybe somewhat to Harry, too.

Didn't mean he was gonna bloody _watch_! Ron kept his eyes firmly set on the chair until they were safely out of the portrait hole. He caught Hermione's eyes across the room, trying to see if she was as shocked—and maybe disturbed—as he had been.

She looked too smug and happy for her own know-it-all good. Of _course_ she had figured it out—maybe even known it all along. Ugh—_women_! And _especially _that one!

Ron focused on the metal Cup in his hand, which he passed on to Katie, and grabbed another drink from the table, resigned to his fate of trying _not_ to imagine what his best mate might be doing with his sister, wherever they were.

The sharp and refreshing taste of pumpkin juice—and maybe a few more pastries, for good measure—would probably keep his mind off it...


End file.
